Theta Sigma, You're in Too Deep
by Nehszriah
Summary: The TARDIS is tired of her occupants not using hampers, which leads to a flustered Time Lord. [taken from a tumblr prompt]


A/N: Sometimes, when I have the availability to fulfill prompts, I open up a window of time for people to submit an idea to my writing tumblr. This is the product of one of those times.

The prompt for this one was "Anything that involves the line "Theta Sigma, you're in too deep", which is funny because this line has been a running joke between Kat and me for months but we're just now getting to it because I am a giant poop.

1282 words; post-Last Christmas; contains much shippy things; please assume Clara and Twelve have been travelling together for a while without actually being all _that_ physical

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Theta Sigma, You're in Too Deep

The door to the TARDIS slammed behind them, protecting the time travelers from the raging storm that was occurring outside. It was just a regular weather-related storm, not a time storm, so there was at least that, but it had still soaked them both through to their skin. Clara had been laughing the entire time, teasing the Doctor for giving puddles wide berths and complaining every time a speck of mud landed on his trousers. Once they were both inside and stabilized from their run, the Doctor pulled the lever and shot them back into the vortex.

"Planet or break?" he asked.

"Break; thank you for asking," Clara replied. She was still breathing on the heavier side, having not caught her breath from attempting to outrun the storm. Sitting down on a bench seat, she shrugged out of her jacket and let it fall to the floor with a soggy plop.

"There's a hamper in your room for a reason," the Doctor mentioned, not even turning around.

"Not like that stops _you_ from stripping everywhere," she chuckled. His eyes went wide and he turned around just in time to catch the tail end of her taking off her jumper. Sitting there in just her dress and leggings, she kicked off her boots and leaned back into the railing, relaxing and closing her eyes.

"Do you take to following me wherever I go?" he questioned, trying not to sound sharp. He turned and looked at his human companion, who was shaking her head laxly.

"No," she said. "Sometimes I come across your things lying around, like the TARDIS is trying to complain about your habits. Stop giving the ship reasons to complain at me."

"It's a bonding mechanism—isn't that what women do? I observed it over at Coal Hill last time I went; thought it was a bit odd myself, since I wasn't aware that was a predominantly female behavior, but…"

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Doctor turned back around and began fiddling with some settings on the console to keep them in a safe stasis within the time vortex before taking off his own coat. Wool was nice, all things considered, but it felt nearly like two coats at once with how much the rain weighed it down. Draping the coat over the railing, he continued on towards one of the corridors when the TARDIS flashed some lights chidingly.

"Alright, alright, I get it," he said, holding his arms up in defeat. He picked his coat up and spun back to exit the control room. The TARDIS wasn't satisfied, however, and shut the door on him.

"I think she's had enough," Clara said.

"She wants you to pick up your things too," he translated. He waited by the door, hoping that she would do what the TARDIS requested, but she didn't. Frustrated, the Doctor stomped over to Clara's side and loomed over her. "She wants you to pick up your things."

"I'm still tired—gimme a bit," she replied.

Not taking that as a legitimate answer, the Time Lord grunted and rolled his eyes before bending down and straightening her boots. Luckily for him the jumper was next to her on the bench, but the jacket, however, was behind the seat, just out of normal reach. He crept closer, face nearly touching her knee, determined to pick up the mess and appease the ship. The jacket was nearly within grasp when he froze in place at the sensation of fingers in his hair.

"Hey," Clara murmured. He looked up and saw that her eyes were open again—those large, brown eyes that made his throat turn dry. The one corner of her mouth was tilted upwards and her hair, still somewhat wet, was beginning to bunch together as it began to dry into soft curls.

"Uh… hey."

"What do you think you're doing down there?" Voice calm, almost dreamy, eyes not angry…

"Picking up after you." He paused, hoping that stating the obvious would get her to release his hair so he could continue. "Should I be down here?"

"I don't know… should you?" she asked, letting her fingers trail down past his short sideburns and down to his jaw. The sound of stubble scratching against her skin reminded him that he needed a shave, though she wasn't really complaining. She put her other hand along the other side of his face and leaned down to kiss him, soft and gentle, just enough to part his lips.

It was times like this where having a respiratory bypass system came in handy, he had figured the last time Clara had kissed him. They were curled up together on her couch, watching some movie, and in a haze that was half brought on by sleep, half brought on by wine, she had positioned herself in his lap and began lazily exploring his mouth via her tongue. He couldn't recall having the ability to breathe for a while ten minutes, though not that he minded. Much. Clara tasted lovely, like tea and coffee and chips (and that night, a 2010 Pinot noir), and every part of her was soft, warm, and inviting. It had been a pleasant, if surprising, experience and one he wasn't sure he'd relive again.

Sure enough, he was revisiting the experience now, except Clara was towering over him, shifting on the bench so that her knees went on either side of his chest. These kisses tasted very much the same as before, except with more rain-taste and less wine-taste, and her skin was beginning to feel almost feverish from the running and the rain. He reached up and held her face as he kissed back, fingers going far enough to catch in her hair. After a few minutes of kissing she parted, leaning back just far enough to look into his eyes.

"I thought the big, bad Time Lord wasn't into stuff like this," she purred.

"It can take a while," he explained. "Sometimes I never do, sometimes I get going right away. This time it took a bit. Trenzalore wasn't exactly kind."

Clara knit her brows in confusion. "Why Trenzalore? That was your last face."

"…but that doesn't mean the trauma didn't carry over," he said. "When you came back, you were the first person to touch me in _centuries_. It hurt, but I could hide it better then. Regenerating took away my control over my reactions and I had to figure them out all over."

"Does… does kissing hurt?"

"No," he assured. "If we kissed while in Rusty's brain, yeah; this body was too new then. Now," he brushed a curl from her face, "I am willing to do whatever you want. This isn't the first time we kissed, after all."

"So then it wasn't a dream," Clara smirked. "Here I was thinking I dreamt giving you a good snog on the couch in my flat. Now that I know better…" She giggled and slid off the bench, gingerly pushing him down to his back and settling on his waist.

"Do we have to _in here_?"

"The control room? Yes." She grabbed the Doctor's wrists and placed his hands on her hips, guiding him along as they repositioned themselves for what was to be a little rougher of a snog than the time previous. He knew Clara understood; her thoughts were hazy and his brain was going everywhere at once, though he could still pick up on some telepathic signals that read ' _relax_ ' and _'I've got you_ ' and _'let me help_ '. Moaning into her mouth, he could feel her smile against his lips and heard the TARDIS whine in exasperation.

' _Theta Sigma_ ', he thought, ' _you're in too deep_.'


End file.
